In entry 24, I mentioned by love for a comic series called Fables, in which the characters from familiar childhood fables are physically and eternally (as long as their tales are told) living among mundanes (humans) in New York City. While the 6-story arc of Cinderella was a short diversion, the foray into exploring the character of Jack took on a life--and thus a comic series--all of its own. The two series converged briefly for a battle against the despot of the Fablelands, but, after that short interlude, Jack continued on in his merry (and irresponsible and philandering and silly) way.
It's important to know that, just as Fables' Prince Charming is the same prince in every story he's ever shown up in, so too is every Jack the same boy/man: Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack-be-Nimble, Jack Horner, and many more--all wrapped up into one character. As such, Jack has had many exploits, which he tells with immodest pride and exaggeration. Some of this is warranted, as the number of stories about him, and the frequency with which they are told, make Jack a truly strong and powerful fable. The charm of Jack's stories depend on blatant misogyny and unrelieved self interest, made funny by the sheer idiocy of his claims and an extensive cast of characters that serve as a foil for his bullshit.
If you enjoyed Collins's Hunger Games teen series, you'll enjoy Roth's Divergent as well. I haven't decided yet whether it's quite as good--I'll wait until the second book in the trilogy is released to make that decision--but I can tell you that I read through the fast-paced post-apocalyptic story over the course of two busy days, fitting some reading time whenever I could and staying up late to finish.
The protagonist of Divergent is a 16-year-old girl, coming of age in a society that has rebuilt itself after a devastating war by having people commit to one of five factions which live their lives based on characteristics opposite of those they believe led to war in the first place. At 16, children must pick one of these factions, in which they will live out their lives: Candor, Abnegation, Dauntless, Erudite, and Amity. While raised by their parents within one of these factions, each new adult has the opportunity to join whichever group he/she desires, guided by the results of a virtual-action personality test. While Beatrice has been raised in Abnegation, leading a life of political and humanitarian service (selfless people will do the best for others, it's believed), she has always struggled to conform to Abnegation expectations. When she takes her test, she discovers why: she is one of a small percentage of people who identify with more than one faction in testing--in her case Candor, Abnegation, and Dauntless--making her one of the Divergent. She is told she must keep this a secret, as Divergence is dangerous.
I don't want to add a spoiler here, so I won't tell you which of the three factions Beatrice chooses. However, suffice it to say that dividing people into five personality/behavior types started out as a good social experiment, but the system has degenerated over time. Mistrust and corruption have led to divisiveness, and faction charters and constitutions have been distorted. As divergent, Beatrice--or Tris, as she becomes known--is exactly the type of person that may be able to do something about this. And, in TeenLit fashion, she wont have to do it alone, as long as the dark, sexy Four is at her side.
All in all, it's a promising first novel by Roth, and I'm looking forward to the second in the series. And, if you loved Hunger Games as much as I did, it's at least a good read to kill some time before Collins releases some new work.
I always enjoy Janet Evanovich's Stephaine Plum novels, in which a Jersey-girl-turned-bounty-hunter stumbles in and out of trouble, accompanied by her ex-prostitute, spandex wearing sidekick, balancing attraction for a longtime flame/cop and a dangerous, top-of-the-line bounty hunter, dodging bullets and explosions--and, upon occasion, catching a bad guy. I try not to read Stephanie Plum novels in public, lest my frequent bursts of laughter lead passersby to think I am mentally unbalanced.
So, when I heard that Evanovich had teamed up with her daughter to write a graphic novel, I was immediately interested. When it was released, I learned that the book is actually the third in Evanovich's Alex Barnaby series--the first two, Metro Girl and Motor Mouth, printed in standard print form. Undaunted, I read that the book is a good stand alone as well, not depending on the previous two novels.
It's that last statement that I now dispute, and I wish I had read the other two books before reading Troublemaker. The book isn't without its charms, but it doesn't take the time to introduce the characters or premise as a first issue of a comic does. The reader is simply presented with characters and an improbable plot and expected to go with it. Slowly I figured out that Alex is a auto mechanic and spotter for the handsome love interest, Sam Hooker, but I never felt like I understood the relationship or the personalities of the duo to understand how they would end up involved in voodoo-related kidnapping in the swamps on Miami. Fans of the earlier two books will likely enjoy this a bit more, and I may come back to it--and to the second graphic novel release in the series--once I've read them. For now, though, I'm going to pick up where I left off with Stephanie Plum (around book 11, I think).
And laugh in public.
Bill Willingham's Fables comic series is one of the first I began when I started my foray into comics and graphic novels. A world in which familiar childhood characters--Red Riding Hood, Snow White, Prince Charming, and the Big Bad Wolf--have escaped the Fableland's evil ruler and live amongst mundanes (mere humans) in an enchanted section of New York City is understandably attractive to a life-long reader and English teacher. Throughout the series, Willingham and a host of writers and artists develop a complex plot involving human and animal fables, war and love, fiction and reality, and good fun. The number of characters is quite extensive, so we learn just a bit of each over the course of the 100-issues-and-counting series. That's why I enjoy out-takes like Cinderella, where a single character is the focus of a 6-issue story arc.
I can't recall exactly when in the series readers learned that Cinderella was more than a shoe-shop owning, globe-trotting divorcée (her Prince Charming, after all, is the same Prince Charming of all the fables). In fact, Cindy is a deep-cover super spy, serving at the behest of Sheriff Bigby Wolf--and later the Beast--in an effort to keep the world safe for (and sometimes from) Fables.
In this six-issue collection, Cindy sets out to track down the evildoer who is introducing magical items into the mundane world--a extreme no-no, as it can draw attention to the Fables. She unwillingly becomes teamed with Arabian Fable Alladin, who has been sent by his people for the same purpose. I love this version of Cindy, who is no hearth-sweeping, downtrodden step-daughter, but rather a sassy, sexy, and sarcastic 007 (Get the book's subtitle now?). Cindy always has a trick or a snide comment up her sleeve, and in two or three places in the story, I guffawed aloud: a genuine GOL versus a plain LOL. This trade will, of course, appeal to fans of the main Fables story line, but it actually stands alone pretty well and may be a good introduction to those interested in checking out the series.
I've read a number of good books about atheism/agnosticism over the past ten years (Dawkins's The God Delusion, Harris's Letter to Christian Nation, and Katz's The Ways of an Atheist come to mind), and this looked to be a winner for me. I love science, I agree with the premise, and Richard Dawkins is quoted on the cover of this book. Ultimately, though, the book just didn't live up to my expectations.
The premise is compelling: Stenger assert that because people are currently using science to argue in political and intellectual arenas for the existence of god, arguments against his existence should be considered as well. He then applies the scientific principles used to evaluate extraordinary claims to the hypothesis that god exists. A god that plays a central role in our world and universe should be detectable by scientific means, he asserts. Those who don't find this a reasonable assumption likely don't need to read the book--or even the rest of this review.
Stenger leads the reader through a series of discussions applying five key scientific principles to religious belief and the existence of god, also drawing upon philosophy, religious studies, and studies of the power of prayer done by reputable organizations. His conclusion, of course, if no surprise; it is, after all, stated as the title of the book. And I agree with him.
For me the failing of the book was not the ideas it presented, but its relative dryness and its overly-detailed description of scientific principles. My interest in science makes me generally familiar with many of the principles Stenger applies to his hypothesis, making the explanations a bit tedious to read. A person less versed in scientific principles--and less accepting of Stegner's conclusion--would likely find this book more to his/her liking. I'd recommend it to someone beginning to explore the possibilities of agnosticism/atheism and trying to develop a foundation to explain emerging beliefs.
